owals had been repulsed with just that
margin of insincerity that would double his ardor.

It had required many letters to induce Mlle. de Longeon to leave her
beloved Paris and visit friends in America. Summers knew she was not a
Frenchwoman, but he was totally in the dark as to what was her
nationality. Summers didn't care. He was madly mad in love with her,
and there was no other thing to consider.

It was for this reason that Mlle. de Longeon was the guest of honor at
the little luncheon in his rooms, to which he had invited Harry and
Pauline. The affair was quite informal. There were a number of navy
men present, a few young married people. The atmosphere of the
gathering was "sublimely innocuous," as Mlle. de Longeon remarked to
Summers in the hall after the guests had departed.

But Mlle. de Longeon had met one guest who did not impress her as
innocuous--or sublime--Raymond Owen. Pauline had presented the
secretary on his arrival, and Owen had immediately devoted himself to
her. Not long after luncheon was served the voice of Mlle. de Longeon
rose suddenly above the general talk.

"But, Mr. Summers, you have not told us yet of your new invention.
When shall the plans be ready? When shall you rise to the realization
of your true success?"

Summers beamed his happiness in the face of the brazen compliment, like
the good and silly boy he was.

"I'm supposed to keep this secret," he answered, "but I can trust every
one here, I know. The plans are going to be sent out day after
tomorrow."

"You mean you will have them completed--all those intricate plans?"
queried Mlle. de Longeon in a tone of breathless admiration.

"I'll work all tonight and most of tomorrow; but, of course, it's only
a case of putting into words ideas that have already been put into
solid metal. My gun and torpedo are ready for work. It isn't so very
difficult, and it's--well, it's a lot of fun."

"And great honor," paid the woman he loved.

For a moment their eyes met, but only for a moment. The next, Catin,
the valet, who was taking charge of the luncheon, under pretense of
anticipating a waiter moved quickly to fill her wine glass. Even the
subtle eye of Owen was not sharp enough to see Mlle. de Longeon pass
him a crushed slip of paper, and she had been too long trained to
concealment of even the simplest emotions to betray uneasiness now.

Nevertheless, there was the possibility of surprising Mlle. de Longeon,
and th